


Ownership

by HiddenTohru



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-20
Updated: 2010-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:56:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenTohru/pseuds/HiddenTohru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a dark night in Ferelden, and Eskar is remembering his friend Jowan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ownership

**Author's Note:**

> An early Dragon Age fanfic I wrote about my "evil" Amell. Hints of non-con, but nothing explicit. Originally written January 2010.

It was night. Eskar gazed across the campfire in front of Morrigan’s strangely assembled dwelling at the dark sky above. The witch slept beside him, the night being warm, but he was barely aware of her slumbering form.

How many times had he looked up at these stars behind the barred windows of the Circle Tower, and wished for freedom? How many times had he and Jowan plotted to go out and work together, to wage war, to help the sick, to escape into a life free from the Tower, as free as a mage could be while still surrounded by suspicious Templars. The blasted Templars, forever watching.

It had only been two weeks since that fateful night. When they had arrived at Redcliffe, and Eskar had agreed to help the village, because he knew it would mean more troops in their final battle. Not to help those pestilent villagers, the ale-soddened peasants who could barely hold a sword properly. Not because the whiny bard had wanted him to, either. Because he was a strategist, first and foremost, and more alive meant more to die later, when he might need them. How surprised he was, though, when they entered the castle to find him.

Jowan, his friend. His brother, the only mage Eskar had ever found the slightest bit worthy to call comrade. Jowan, who had escaped at the expense of his love, the chantry initiate who Eskar still wished he had strangled with his own hands. That stupid bitch. They were always judging, never understanding. If magic was sin, then the Chantry itself was the Blight, the force that kept its subject enthralled.

Eskar shook his head, fingering the pendant hanging just next to his heart. That blasted Jowan. Eskar had released him, not from some feeling of sentiment, but because he was useful. Because he could do blood magic, because he had consorted with a demon. Because he could kill that annoying bitch Isolde to let Eskar into the Fade, to bargain with the demon. Eskar had learned blood magic then, though his comrades did not yet know it. Somehow, he thought that specific skill set might best be kept to himself, at least until it was needed. Morrigan suspected, he knew, but she could not know. Not yet. Perhaps later, he would confirm her suspicions. When it fit his purpose.

No. He had bargained with the demon because of Jowan. His childhood friend had betrayed him. Eskar shut his eyes and remembered those dark nights at the tower as a young man, the heat he felt that would not go away, the slightest brush of Jowan’s hand against his when they studied sending him into the giddying arms of the desire that felt stronger than any magic he’d ever known. He had never admitted it. His friend was not to be his. He had refused to admit it to himself, making excuses. He had been grasping at the only person he felt close to. It was a mistake, he was confused. He pursued others, coldly, cutting a wide swathe among the other apprentice mages, of both sexes, getting a reputation for his cold manner and skill, but feeling for none of them.

None save one. One he could not have.

So Eskar had made the bargain. The demon would leave Connor for now, but many months or perhaps years later, it would return and have him fully. Eskar gained what he wanted, the power he needed to repay his friend.

He had gone with Arl Eamon’s insistence on the blood mage who had poisoned him going back to the Circle. Eskar knew that Jowan would never get there. He had made sure the Templars restraining him would have an… accident. His friend had escaped, once more. Perhaps Jowan’s words of contrition had been sincere, perhaps not. Eskar did not care anymore.

He had dabbled in so many to forget that one touch that was burned into his mind and heart. The whiny bard, the slutty elf, the witch of the wilds. They were his playthings because he knew how to control them. When the whiny bard had become troublesome, he had disposed of her. The old dance of deception was easy for him, and he did it well. Even the elf and the witch only suspected the depth of it, and they were so very wrong.

Eskar held the pendant up to examine it in the firelight. One single drop of blood, suspended in a crystal vial. The stupid ex-templar had assumed it was a different container for his Joining ritual souvenir. None of them suspected.

Eskar held the pendant tightly, just beside his heart. Yes, someday he would see his old friend again. Then Jowan would pay for his betrayal. With so many sweet screams and sobbing words, he would pay. Eskar would never forgive him for that chantry bitch.

Jowan belonged to him, now and forever.


End file.
